


Atmosphere

by candesgirl



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Character Death, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/pseuds/candesgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a full moon in Manchester...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atmosphere

The mangled body lay crumpled on the ground, the pool of deep red blood around it taking on an almost blue hue in moonlight. The beast backs slowly away, sneering and swaggering, drunk off the blood coursing fresh and thick through its veins. Rising on hind legs, it howls proudly against the full moon, a last undying shred of human arrogance keeping him from full animal instinct, blinding him to the man in the shadows, watching. 

**

"Well?" Sam asks as Gene stands up and kicks the grimy sheet back over the victim.

"Well what, Tyler? Bloke's dead isn't he? Been dead a good half a day already by the looks of it," Gene lights a cigarette, looks disdainfully at the cold, dead body. 

"Yeah, he's dead Guv, because of a deliberate and violent act." Sam pulls back the sheet, waving his hand in the direction of what's left of the neck. "Same as the others."

"Yeah, well they weren't model citizens either, were they?"

"What are you saying?" Sam asks, turning his gaze from the body up to Gene. "That he deserved to have his throat ripped out? That any of them did?"

"I'm saying someone did us a favour here, Sam. These men were the lowest form of scum and I for one am a happier man for having them off my streets."

"Off your streets? Gene they're not off your streets, they're staining the cobbles with their blood. Killed by some vicious predator, some vigilante, in cold blood. That makes this...killer a problem on your streets, on our streets." Sam stares defiantly at Gene.

"They're our streets now, are they?" Gene asks, tossing his not yet burnt out cigarette to the ground, meeting Sam's eyes in challenge.

Sam doesn't back down, "I think they are, yeah. I want the same things you want Guv." Sam says, crossing his arms and looking at Gene. "I want this city, our city free from crime, from beasts...from cold blooded killers who think they're Christian Bale. This sort of thing, it won't be tolerated on my watch."

"I don't know who this Christian fella is, old boyfriend of yours or summat, and I don't care, neither. What I do care about is that you're with me on this. You say this is our city. Well Sammy, our city has a certain set of rules, you best play by them," Gene lowers his voice, speaking in a tone only for Sam. "Work with me on this, trust me for once, this is shit you don't want to get mixed up in, Sam. There's an order to these things, call it the food chain if you will. It'll work itself out, always does."

Sam lowers his arms to his side, backs away, raising his voice "I didn't come here to play by your rules, Gene, I know a thing or two, more than you think I do..."

"Lower your voice Sam. You'll do well to remember you're speaking to your superior officer, and let me tell you boy, you know nothing. You hear me? I can have you thrown off this case so fast you'll be scrubbing the toilets back in Hyde with your fancy new toothbrush before you know what hit you."

"Hyde,” Sam crosses his arms again, huffs. Do you know what I did back in Hyde, Gene? Do you even care? Do you think that...You know what? Forget it, doesn't matter." 

Sam walks quickly away only to turn heel and double time back, pointing his finger at Gene, spitting out harsh words. "You'll do well to remember that I am not some little puppy dog, DCI Hunt. I'm not some drone you can just order around," Sam looks around, bringing his voice to a heated whisper, "...some boy you can shape in your mould. You don't snap your fingers and tell me what to do." Sam lowers his accusatory finger, walks away in silence. 

**

The room is dark, quiet; only the first blush of dawn creeping in the windows. Sam throws his keys down on the small table by the door, tosses his jacket over the banister and checks the time, ready to head up the stairs for a few hours of sleep.

"You're late," Gene says from the far side of the other room. Sam startles, didn't expect him there, doesn't need to turn around; knows a drink is in his hand, the tie is hanging loose over his shoulders with his shirt half unbuttoned and the feet, shoes still on are propped up on some box full of relics left over from the missus. 

"Know you weren't at the pub, because I was."

"I had some work to do." Sam doesn't turn around, runs a hand over the banister.

"Weren't at the station, neither."

Sam turns around then, angry, "And how would you know that? Come looking for me? I'm a big boy, Gene, I don't need a babysitter."

"Not interested in babysitting you, Sam."

Sam shakes his head, hands on his hips, moves away from the stairs, closer to Gene. "What then? Why'd you come looking for me?"

Gene stands up and stumbles, wobbly on his fee, grabbing the arm of the chair and leaning in towards Sam, sniffing him before he straightens out. "Interested in why you're coming home at dawn. Interested in why you have someone else's stink all over you, that's why."

"You're pissed." Sam reaches out an instinctive hand to steady Gene, pulls it back when he feels the cold, clammy skin of Gene's arm, brings the back of his hand to Gene's forehead. "You look like shit, Gene, you're burning up…" Sam is surprised by the tight grip around his wrist and the forceful shove that sends him arse first to the floor.

"You don't need no babysitter and I don't need no nurse." Gene steps over Sam, not looking at him. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam demands, hurt and anger in his words.

Gene stops, spins angrily towards Sam, comes at him with a loud, resounding backhand to the face. 

The silence is deafening, magnifies Gene’s immediate regret over what he’d just done. Sam stares in shock, frozen to his spot on the floor until he wipes at his bleeding nose, using the same hand he’d tended to Gene with moments before, waiting for something, an apology, a hand to help him up, something that never comes in the moments that stretch and hang, stagnant in the air. 

Sam gathers himself to his feet, brushes not quickly enough by Gene to dodge the hesitant grip on his arm. 

"Sam..." 

He shrugs Gene violently off, moving to grab his jacket over the banister, the keys off the small table; his hand on the doorknob before he looks at Gene again. "I won't do this." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly. 

"Going back to Hyde, then?" Gene crosses his arms, finally able to look at Sam, able to see the hurt in his eyes, nostrils flaring at the puffy lip, the bloody nose he knew he'd see. 

Sam stutters, taken aback at the fierce look on Gene's face. "What?"

"Hyde. Back to whatever it is you did there, whatever it is that you think I don't care about, the things you choose not to tell me about. It's where you were tonight, innit?" Gene moves towards the door, closer to Sam, close enough to reach out though he doesn't, instead balling his fingers into fists at his side before shoving them in his pockets.

"How do you...Yeah, yeah it is. I went to Hyde." Sam backs away from the door, into the cool, early morning air, the light allowing him to see Gene in earnest, see the dark, almost purple bags under his tired and bloodshot eyes, to see the twitching muscles under stained, crumpled clothes, the hands balled into fists, hiding their tremors behind a thin layer of cloth.

"You went back to whatever, or whoever it is that you do, there back in Hyde, in the middle of the night. Had the balls to try and sneak back into my house..." Gene pulls a fist from his pocket, braces his fingers against the top of the open door, pulls the other fist out and grasps the doorknob tight. "You're right Sam, you won't do this. I won't do this." Gene slams the door, leaves Sam, confounded and bruised.

Sam stands, catching his breath, pushing back the thought that he may have found what he was looking for, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill, unable to see Gene slump down on the other side of the door, drawing his knees to himself and shaking.

**

Gene waltzes into CID hours later, already guzzling from his hip flask, mumbling something about hair of the dog to anyone who dares shoot him a look. 

"Had a fight with the boyfriend last night then, Dorothy?" Gene gibes cruelly at Sam's desk.

Sam sneers, "What do you want? I'm in no mood..." he's cut off mid sentence, a forceful hand on his arm pushing him around for the second time in mere hours, this time up out of his seat and into Gene's office, up against the filing cabinet that started the whole thing months ago. 

"Gonna hit me again, Guv?" Sam spits out, fire blazing in his eyes. "Come on," he says, turning his un-bruised cheek to Gene, "only this time make it good, so I can't get back up."

Gene releases his hold on Sam, wincing inwardly at his words, at the venom behind them. "You're off the murder case." Gene looks down, unable to confront the hurt in Sam's face, as if he had struck him on the other cheek.

"What? Why? Because of a fight? You can't take me off this case, Gene, not when we're getting so close..."

Gene steps away from Sam, placing distance between them. "Done deal, Sam. Ray'll be taking over from here on in."

"Wait, Ray? Guv, come on, you need me on this...."

Gene steps in to Sam again, arms on either side of him, against the cabinet, looking him in the eye. "No, Sam, I don't need you." Gene moves his head closer to Sam, closes his eyes and wrinkles his nose before pushing off of the filing cabinet and heading for the doors to his office, "Do yourself a favour, go home and wash his smell off of you. You're stinking up my office."

**

Sam sits, still on the bed; phone in hand though the call ended minutes before. Like a tape recorder he plays the short, one sided conversation over and over again in his head.

"Sam, we understand you've been taken off the murder case, we’ll have to take you off on our end as well. We understand, Sam, we do, emotional attachments...happen from time to time. It's why you have to be there, when it goes down, see it through to the end, nip it in the bud if you will. Stay out of it for now, don't meddle, we'll strike when the iron is hot. We'll contact you when the time nears."

**

Weeks pass in a blur of paperwork and scotch for Sam. He watches and waits in silence as the month ticks slowly by, as Gene and Ray chase down leads that don't exist, leads he knows Gene's made up. Watches them run down roads that go nowhere, roads he knows Morgan will block, as the moon rises higher and fuller each night. He doesn't go to the pub, can't watch Gene resume his normal life if only for a little while. He doesn't look at Gene, can't stand to meet the intermittent disappointment, fear, longing and confusion in those green eyes; can't stand to watch the slow transformation and anxiety that washes over him, little by little, day by day, instead watching from the sidelines, not meddling, heart and spirit breaking as the day draws nearer.

**

Though awake, the knock on his door at the late hour startles him. He reaches for his gun full of silver, slips it under his pillow, to be safe. "Who is it?" he asks, hand under the pillow with the gun.

"It's me, you pillock." Gene slurs from outside the door.

Sam gets up from the bed, stands in front of the door without unlocking it. "Go away, Gene." 

"Let me in, Tyler, or I break it down." 

He unlocks the door, steps back against the bed as Gene stumbles in and slams the door behind him, clearly pissed as he tries to struggle out of his coat. 

"What're you doing here?" Sam asks, trying to sound indifferent, instead coming off curious, maybe hopeful.

"Night cap." Gene throws his coat on the end of the bed, long legs carrying him in a few quick strides to the booze he knows Sam keeps near the sink. 

"Go home and have a drink, Guv. Or better yet, go home and get some sleep, you still look like shit."

"Well aren't you the perfect hostess, insulting your guest." Gene can't be bothered with a glass, instead choosing to drink the cheap whisky right from the bottle.

"You aren't my guest, I didn't ask you to come. I didn't even invite you in." Sam rolls his eyes in tandem with his stomach, which rolls of its own accord.

"Guess I'm not a vampire then?" Gene says seriously, after swigging a quarter of the bottle and advancing on Sam.

"What?" Sam laughs nervously as Gene eyes him.

"You know, vampires, like Dracula, the ones that bite people and suck on their blood." 

Sam would swear that Gene's voice crawled, close to a drawl.

"Yeah, right. I know what vampires are." Sam inches further on to the bed. 

"Okay then. You didn't invite me in and I guess that means I'm not one of them vampires, because they can only come in to your home if you allow them to."

"That's just, er, just a myth, Guv. No such things as vampires and, you know, monsters and such." 

"That right?" Gene stops, his knees hitting the bed between Sam’s thighs before he nudges them further apart and sinks down to the floor, kneeling between Sam's spread legs. 

"How 'bout other monsters?" Gene's hands are moving up Sam's legs, slowly over his thighs, his movements matching the slow, sensual tone of his voice. 

"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Sam closes his eyes, unable to think with Gene's hands on him.

"Shhh, come on Sammy, what do you think?" Gene asks, hands running over Sam's crotch, up and over his obvious erection. "Monsters...maybe werewolves?"

Sam moans in spite of himself, as Gene's hands are replaced with his lips, mouthing hot against his straining cock, sniffing and breathing him in as if his life depends on it. "Gene..." Sam's hands wind in Gene's hair, pulling him close, too close, not close enough. 

Gene lifts his mouth off of Sam, murmuring against the thin fabric that separates him from flesh. "Smell so good...Like no one else. So fucking good, Sam, always so good...They make you feel good like this over in Hyde? Does Morgan get on his knees for you...Make you ache for him..." 

Sam grasps hard at Gene's hair, willing himself to stop, but he can't. He needs to understand what Gene is saying, what he's doing here, but he needs this more, this rush of blood and adrenaline he feels with Gene. He tugs Gene harshly up and into a violent embrace, a kiss full of tongues and teeth and something metallic, something that transforms the moment of lust to an atmosphere full of electricity and need and unspoken things. 

Sam scrabbles for purchase against Gene's attack, lost in the sensation of Gene sucking on his tongue, his lips, lapping up the trace amounts of blood before biting almost gently down again, drawing a sharp hiss of breath from Sam and an unearthly growl from Gene. 

It's then that Sam understands; Gene knows, knows Sam is a hunter. Gene is preying on him, stalking Sam like he would his kill.

"Gene...stop." Sam tries to move away from Gene.

"I've been to Hyde, Sam. Wanted to know...I missed you. Talked to Morgan, told him my Sam would never...Damn it Sam, I missed you, couldn't breathe without you..." Gene is grinding against Sam, desperate thrusts that come from a need for contact, for flesh. "It was him, his stink all over you...But that's over, Sam, no more..."

"Don't do this, please...I wanted to tell you. You took me off the case, God, I knew it was you, I knew...I was so scared I'd lose you. I went to Morgan that night, told him it wasn't you. I lied, Gene, I fucking lied for you and they knew, they saw right through me..."

A lightning fast hand comes up to Sam's neck, joins the lips there, caressing and causing spikes of pleasure before it sinks sharp, claw like nails into his skin and rips flesh as easy as paper. Sam is lost, yelping against Gene, fighting the absurd pleasure and intense pain of the intimate moment, wanting to drown in it as he tries to wrestle off Gene. 

"Gene...Gene!" He screams, scared.

Gene stills, hearing, feeling the fear in Sam. He looks down, sees the blood stained lips, the deep scratches in Sam's neck and pulls off of him, horrified, fearful of what he's done. Sam is still beneath him, unable to move, unwilling to speak. "Sam?" Gene questions, as if it isn't him, as if he weren't present moments before. 

The light of the moon drifts over the room, over them, having moved from behind the clouds. She is gorgeous, round and almost full this night, her monthly twenty-eight day cycle nearly complete by only twenty four hours. Gene closes his eyes to her, to Sam, sadness washing over him, the need to escape taking him over completely. With one last look down at Sam he flees, the whisper of apology dying on his lips.

Everything tinted red, blood red...the walls he grasps blindly against, the door leading to the empty field and then everything is sheer black and shades of gray, the cold ground beneath his bare feet, the night sky with no stars, no moon. 

Lost, he's lost, calling out to someone, anyone. 

Sam.

He hears his name faint over the wind and dust that picks up and whips fierce around him, blinding him with its red particles, stinging his eyes and his skin until it stops, just as suddenly as it started and he is left, alone and cold. Scared.

 

Sam.

He hears again, calls out against the wind towards his name, his voice louder now in the eerie stillness, fear causing him to shake, his voice to crack as the gray light changes, replaced once more with red; blood red until there is nothing but deep colour around him and he wakes in his bed covered in sweat and shivering against the cool morning air, his own blood dried and caked on his neck, his shirt, his bed and he remembers.

 

**

Sam glances down at the disjointed, bloodied body, recognizable only by its face. His stomach lurches, threatens to spill; another quick scan of the body has him doubled over, catching his breath. Someone's hand is on his shoulder, asking him if he's okay, offering him a cup of water and he wonders when he dropped to his knees, when his hands found their way on to the body. He hits the water out of the nameless person's hand, pushes his way off his knees with strength and determination he isn't sure he possesses, looks around to find everyone is nameless to him, these coppers and curious onlookers and he feels lost, here without Gene, in his city.

Hands on either side of his face slap himself, demanding he wake up out of his fog, people stare at him, approach him, ask him if he's okay. Eyes roam back over the dead body, back on Frank Morgan, on the deep gashes in his arms...arms that held him down...the twisted, broken fingers...fingers that grazed his skin...the chunk of flesh missing from his neck...the neck he burrowed against during the assault, the place where he hid his tears...the deep pool of blood between his mangled legs...the thing he pushed inside of Sam, in his mouth, his arse...

 

Again he looks to the sea of unknown faces; hand over his mouth, keeping him from speaking, from hurling, from yelling something to someone, to anyone. He wants to shout, make them understand Gene did it for Sam, needs to make himself understand.

Sam walks away from the scene, runs away from the sea of blood and death and unknown things, eyes awash in shades of red, doesn't notice Gene as he slips away, unseen, his own insides twisting into a cruel mix of pain, of bone and muscle preparing for its transformation and of overwhelming sadness at what has to come, of age old tales come to life.

**

Gene walks the city, his city...their city, down forgotten alleys, cobblestone streets. He questions if Sam is up to the mighty challenge, ready to take on their city, ready to take on his destiny. Hunting, Morgan, monsters...It had all been practice for what was to come for them, for Sam. He looks to the darkening, reddening sky, closes his eyes to feel the wind whip around him, knows the time is near. 

 

He finds himself in front of the station, at the gates to his city, proudly walks up her stairs, her hallways and settles in to his lair after a pause at Sam's empty desk.

 

He waits.

**

"What are you doing with Sam?"

"Sam? Surely you can be more specific than that Mister..."

"Hunt. Gene Hunt, DCI over in Manchester, and I'll ask you again, what are you doing with my Sam."

"DCI Hunt from Manchester. Ah, I see. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam speaks of you often..." Morgan sneers, extending his hand in superficial greeting.

"Does he? Funny, he's never mentioned you." Gene looks, arms crossed, at the outstretched hand.

"Frank Morgan, known Sam a long time, he's a good man, you're lucky to have him." Morgan retreats, focuses on his paperwork, aiming for an air of indifference.

Gene can smell the fear; fear and something else familiar and startling, something like...Sam. His nostrils flare as he grabs for Morgan, pulls him in close, baring his teeth and biting back a snarl. "Stay away from Sam, you understand me, Frank Morgan?"

"Detective Inspector Hunt," Morgan starts, voice calm over his obvious fear, "I think you've got it wrong, all wrong. Why don't you tell Sam to stay away from me, from here? I suggest you stay away too, you've no idea what you're getting in to..."

"Don't I?" Gene seethes, releasing his grip on Morgan and throwing him back into his sensible seat before he walks away.

"Did you know he came to me last night, Detective?" Morgan taunts Gene, voice dripping with arrogance and innuendo. "Begged me to take him back, take him away from you and away from Manchester. Got on his knees and grovelled, and not for the first time. Of course, he had to be punished, the poor, sad thing..."

Blind with possessive rage, Gene stalks back to Morgan, rips him up out of his chair and throws him on the floor, towering over him before a swarm of armed men surround them. Gene releases him, pushes past the group of men. "Touch Sam again and I promise, I will kill you, slowly, rip you limb from limb as you beg me for your sorry life." 

"He knows, Gene. Sam knows who you are...what you do..."

**

Sam closes his eyes, breathes deeply, awareness creeping over his skin as the night settles in, as darkness sweeps across Manchester. He aches, body and mind, heart and soul. He splashes cold water on his face, chasing away the sweat, the heat and the itch. Absentmindedly he brings a hand to his neck, traces over the unscarred wound, wincing at the pain, at the memory. It's done, he knows this as he glances upon his still human reflection, feels the emerging beast ripping at him from the inside, ready to stalk the night.

Morgan is gone, killed in the line of duty like so many hunters before him. Sam will never mourn that life, will never forgive the blood Morgan splattered on Gene's hands, will never forget the painful task Morgan dropped on his doorstep.

 

It doesn't matter, won't matter when the moon is high in the sky, when the beast lives and breathes. It won't matter when he has to take the beast down.

**

The moon is high, her cycle complete once more as she glows high and bright over her city. The serenity that is CID this time of night is shattered as her light shines through the windows, pierced by high pitched cries, sickening sounds of popping bones, stretching skin and torn clothing. 

The transformation is painful, like thousands of little deaths, over and over, month by month and in those last moments of awareness Gene imagines Sam, overcome with fear and wracked with pain, unable to completely transform until he makes his first kill. He's ready to lie in wait, ready for Sam to come to him, to give Sam that which he needs.

**

A painful cry, sweet as sin to the beast inside as fingers are twisted and mangled, bent so far back they snap like twigs. Morgan begs, grovels as his arm is torn from its socket. An intense feeling of victory and twisted pleasure well up inside both man and beast followed quickly by vehement disgust as he feels warm wetness against him, smells the strong stench of urine and reaches a hand down between legs he's kicked cruelly apart. He grasps with all his might, pulling and ripping away the flesh he finds there, flesh that violated Sam, basks in the exquisite pain of the twitching, dying body against him until he is lost to all but the kill. He sinks sharp teeth and claws into neck and rips out a hunk of flesh, dropping the body coldly to the ground as the blood and power course through his veins.

**

Sam is taken over by instinct, blindly following scent like a true canine, all other senses falling by the wayside until he steps out of the lift, into the hallway. He registers movement a moment before the beast is standing, full and tall, beautiful before him, body covered in dark blonde hair, eyes yellow and red, no longer the brilliant green of the man. The beast moves in on him, quick and sure in its movements until Sam, calling forth his hunting skills, snarls and kicks a leg out, tripping the beast up while he dodges claws and teeth, snakes out from under a limb and runs down the hall, towards Gene's office.

The beast is up again, fast, faster than Sam's human legs can carry him and Sam is caught, a mighty paw upon his chest pushing him, backing him through the doors to the office, backing him into a corner. Sam does not cower, does not back down, stares that beast down with fierce, already yellowing eyes of his own. He can taste it, the kill; the desire for it coursing through him like a drug. 

The beast lunges at Sam, claws coming down sharp against the old wound, causing fresh blood to run down Sam's neck, stilling Sam for the briefest moment, stilling the world around them. The beast, or maybe what's left of Gene leans in, sniffs deeply, inhaling profoundly before its long tongue stretches out, laps coarsely, whimpering at the bittersweet taste of Sam. Sam closes his eyes, aims blindly as the blanket of red falls around him again and shoots, the bullet ripping through flesh as a cry is ripped from Sam's throat.

 

The beast howls in pain, falling back with a pained look for Sam before it whimpers and scampers off, wounded, trailing blood through the office, out the door, into the streets.

**

Sam finds him there sometime after dawn, on his bed, curled up and sleeping, clothes shredded and torn, stained dark with blood. Curiosity grips him as he makes his way slowly towards the sleeping, now human form, as his eyes move over half bare skin. He stills upon reaching the bed, his shaking hand hovering over the freshly torn and twisted flesh,the wound he'd inflincted, his fingers itching to dip into the shallow pool of blood gathering at Gene's abdomen, somehow wanting the blood on his hands, needing to feel it warm and sticky on his skin; marking him as Sam marked the flesh of both beast and man, flesh he’s come to love. A quick, familiar hand seizes him by the wrist, startling him out of his twisted thoughts before he can touch the wound.

He closes his eyes, lets the warmth of the skin to skin contact spread before he opens them again, focusing on familiar, once again green eyes staring back at him. The moment hangs thick in the air, unspoken words dangling precariously over them, threatening to fall. Sam leans in, ghosts his lips over Gene's, hushing the protest before it forms. Sam needs this, wants this, and he will not let Gene refuse him. His eyes search Gene's face, from lips to eyes and back before he leans in again, more urgent this time, his tongue running along Gene's parted lips, tasting blood and sweat and Gene and God he just wants more. His tongue pushes in against those lips, against the teeth that sunk into his own neck, brought him here to the brink of something too big to process, prodding and searching until Gene responds with a growl against him, a noise that shoots straight through Sam, through all his extremities until it settles hot and thick in his cock. 

He can't explain it, doesn't understand it, this need that takes over, this desire that possesses him. He's had Gene, the man and now he needs the beast, needs that raw, unbridled passion that makes up the whole of the being underneath him. He responds to the strong hands groping his arse with a growl of his own, a push of his hips against Gene's and in that moment he is lost, in that moment that Gene flips them, in one fluid motion and with a show of strength that Sam can hardly believe Gene still possesses. His legs come up to twist around the powerful body, his hands slide through silky hair, grasping at the root and pulling Gene in and down to him, against him.

Sam feels the warmth of fresh blood soaking through his shirt, oozing from the fresh wound and spreading over his skin. He groans; a sound from somewhere deep inside of himself, some place that he doesn't yet recognize, as Gene pulls himself up on one arm, hovers over Sam and looks down their bodies, running a cruel hand over the blood soaked shirt before tearing it open, unable to deal with triviality, with buttons and niceties. Sam shivers from the cool air, from the fingers trailing blood over his bare skin, smearing it across his belly and up his chest until a single finger traces over his neck, dances a whisper over his parted lips, tinting them the barest shade of red. His tongue creeps slowly out of his mouth, responding and warming to this new sensation, this tingling heat and sweetness spreading over his lips and settling into crevices, spilling over nothing more but the hint of a taste, the lure of something grand. 

Sam closes his eyes as Gene repeats the process, wincing as he dips a finger into the shallow wound and gathers the viscous liquid again on his fingers, bringing it once more to Sam's lips, watching as Sam holds his tongue out, waiting for it, wanting it. Sam swirls his tongue around the coated finger, less tentatively this time, more eager, wraps his lips around it and sucks greedily, feeding the growing hunger until not a trace is left, until his fingers are moving against Gene of their own accord, searching out the object of this new lust.

Gene allows it, gives this to Sam like he's never been able to give him anything before, biting through his own lip against the burning pain, focussing instead on the intense pleasure of Sam's skin against his, on the smell of arousal and lust and blood surrounding them. He wants to say things, too many things, but Gene isn't a man of words, and he wants to tell him, tell him their city will be a better place for having him guarding it, taking Gene's place as if it was always meant to be. Sam seems to understand, craning his neck towards Gene, thrusting his hips against him and begging for contact, not needing words, only needing Gene.

Gene understands these non-words, repeats his actions of hours earlier, drags his tongue against the scratches, licking the wounds clean for Sam, tasting and smelling and falling as emotion, fear and love and pride come forth, spilling out in harsh touches, in bodies rutting against each other like the animal Gene is, like the animal Gene's almost made out of Sam. With a mind to finish the task Gene rips at the rest of Sam's clothes, easily tearing away cheap fabric until there is just skin on skin, Gene against Sam, inside of him, fierce and unprepared, rough and painful. Just as Sam needs to feel the power in Gene, needed to taste his blood, Gene needs this, Sam underneath him, willingly gritting against the pain, finding pleasure in it as he gives himself completely over to Gene.

Sam understands this, closes his eyes as he works past the pain, his every nerve exploding with it until it's all he knows, pain and blood and as the red blankets him again, veils his eyes, he hears his name...

"Sam." Like in the dream, he's lost, scared.

"Sam." The name is louder, no longer a whisper, urgent against his ear. "Sam, open your eyes..."

Sam opens his eyes, grasping loosely at this new reality, grunting against Gene, feeling the slick thrust of his thick cock inside of him over and over, no longer painful but intensely pleasurable. A hot white light flashes behind his eyes when Gene runs a rough hand between his thighs, over his balls, up his shaft and he struggles to keep his eyes open against the excruciating bliss until something tells him to let go, until Gene demands he let go, sinking deep into him one last time, heat between his legs and on his neck where sharp teeth sink against already torn and bruised flesh. 

Sam is no longer lost and scared, convulsing against Gene with a feeling he's never known, with a lust he can't explain, a thirst and a hunger not satiated with his release, hot and sticky, messy and mingling with blood on Gene's belly. Gene moves his hand up Sam's body, stilling him, calming him down, fingers grazing his skin until they move off of Sam, move under the pillow next to Sam, curling around something cold and hard and Gene shivers then, shaking as he pulls Sam's gun full of silver out, places it on the bed next to them as he flips their bodies once more, lies on his back as he guides Sam's hand to the gun.

Sam looks down at Gene, unbidden images of their mingled lives coming to him too fast, speeding by in a rush of messy emotion. He curls his fingers around the gun, runs it over Gene's bare, heated skin stopping to hold it steady over his heart, eyes not leaving Gene's as he fingers the trigger and after a pause falters, pulling the gun away only to find a firm hand over his, fingers joining his on the trigger, the slightest tension helping him pull it back, slowly.

"It's time to take over your city, Sam."

Sam leans down, whispers against Gene's lips as he closes his eyes. "Our city, Gene...Always our city..."

He pulls the trigger, his transformation complete.


End file.
